


The Adventures of Commander Lexa Blood, H.M.S. Polaris

by FlyUpInSky



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate History, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:57:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyUpInSky/pseuds/FlyUpInSky
Summary: This is the Seafaring AU that nobody asked for. Commander Alexandra Blood is a young Captain of the British Royal Navy during the early years of the American Revolution, 1777 a.d.. Colonial privateers and smugglers ruining trade in the Caribbean, the crew of the H.M.S.Polarischases down the suspected smuggling ship theArc de Triomphe. No idea if this is going anywhere but hey, here's to romance on the high seas!





	The Adventures of Commander Lexa Blood, H.M.S. Polaris

_Author’s Note:_

_So I have been reading far too many seafaring novels lately. I felt like dipping my toes into the warm waters of the Caribbean, and naturally the 100 fanfiction is my safe place, so here we go. I am sure without looking that the “Pirate Captain Lexa” angle has been done already, so I figured this might be something a little different to just have some fun with. Who knows if this will be anything… No promises. Also, let’s all agree upfront to just forget the fact that there wouldn’t have been any women in naval service until long, long after the American Revolution, and pretend that female Captains, officers and sailors were not completely unheard of and not considered unusual. Thanks!  ;)_

_\- FlyUpInSky_

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**Chapter 1 - The Smuggler's Gambit**

 

 

_H.M.S. Polaris, 1777 A.D._

_British West Indies, the Caribbean_

_Patrolling the Windward Islands, south of Antigua and east of the waters of Martinique_

Commander Alexandra Blood, Captain of His Majesty’s Ship _Polaris_ , lifted her head from her careful study of the charts strewn out across her table in response to the soft knock on her cabin’s door. The hatch opened and the boyish face of her youngest Midshipmen appeared, his blue dress coat rumpled and a size too large for his slim frame, his blond hair dark with sweat from the punishing midday sun up on deck.

“Compliments from Mr. Augustus, sir. He requests your presence on the quarterdeck,” the boy reported, his expression as solemn and serious as a thirteen year old could make it. She had taken him on as Midshipmen just three months prior while anchored at English Harbor for resupply, and already he was coming along nicely, overcoming a great deal of his earlier shyness.

“Thank you, Mr. Woods,” she replied, standing and pulling her own jacket on from where it had hung from the back of her chair in one smooth, unhurried movement. “I’ll be there presently.”

“They’ve spotted a ship, sir,” the boy continued, nearly exhaling the words in a single breath, his excitement momentarily overcoming him.

They had yet to see meaningful action since he came aboard and his eagerness for the experience was more than obvious. She felt her own sense of anticipation at the news of a sighting, but with her far greater practice and experience, she was much better at concealing it.

“Very good, Aden. Now, please do inform Mr. Augustus that I will be along shortly.”

The boy’s face went slightly pink with embarrassment, and he knuckled his forehead in a quick salute before backing out of her cabin and shutting the door behind him. She heard the thumping of his feet as he hurried away across the planking beyond, nearly running in his haste to return to the activity of the deck.

Alone once more in her cabin, Lexa smiled, remembering when she herself had first joined a ship’s crew as a young Midshipmen and every sighting of a sail on the horizon had been cause for great excitement. Though a good part of her wanted to rush after him, she forced herself to carefully refasten her neck clothe and do up all the silver buttons of her blue officer’s jacket. A brief glance in the glass on the wall ensured that not a hair was out of place before she placed her hat on her head and departed her cabin. As the Captain, it was important for the men and women onboard to always see her looking her best. While at sea, she was both their leader, their sole arbiter of justice, and their primary benefactor all in one. A Captain of the British Royal Navy was not unlike a god on their ship, and like a god, she must strive to appear calm and in control no matter what chaos or uncertainty was occurring around her.

With that in mind, when Lexa arrived on the quarterdeck a minute or so later, she appeared unhurried and composed, her eyes squinting slightly to adjust to the brightness of the tropical sun overhead.

“Captain on deck!” the bosun’s gruff voice called, loud enough to be heard by all. His experienced eye spotted her presence among them above decks with uncanny speed despite the fact that he was nearly halfway across the ship.

The Helmsmen at the wheel dutifully ignored her as they focused on the task of steering the ship, one of the Master’s mate’s standing nearby and overseeing their efforts. At the bosun’s call, the huddle of ship’s officers on the starboard rail of the quarterdeck collectively lowered their looking glasses and turned to give her their attention, her First Lieutenant catching her eye and stepping forward to greet her.

“Sail sighted to leeward, sir,” he reported, his voice a deep rumble that carried despite the brisk wind and the constant snapping of sail and rigging.

He was an incongruous sight, was her First Lieutenant. Large and muscular for a Navy man, especially considering their standard diet, Mr. Augustus looked as though he would be more at home on a Viking ship than in His Majesty’s service. He had the thick and calloused hands of a boxer and could likely out-brawl any man on the ship, given the chance. Though he kept his dark beard neatly trimmed as a gentleman must, she could well imagine him with his beard grown out and his wild hair longer and in braids, the blue tattoos of a savage covering his broad face. Even as he was, he cut an intimidating figure in his naval uniform, and she fancied they made an odd pair as they stood together on her gently swaying ship.

“Very good, Mr. Augustus. Is it in sight yet?”

“Just coming visible in the glass now,” he said, handing her the already extended brass looking glass without needing to be asked.

She brought the instrument to her eye and began to scan the blue horizon, starting at the bow of the ship and moving to starboard. The _Polaris_ was sailing well under a brisk southeasterly, their current course to the northwest running her nearly directly downwind. The wind and sea conditions really allowed the small Sphinx class frigate to have her head and display the speed and nimbleness she was best known for, and she raced now through the water like a young thoroughbred loosed from the gate. After a moment, Lexa spotted two masts ahead of them, their royals and topgallants just visible now from the quarterdeck as her ship slowly gained on the unknown vessel.

“When did we first spot her?” she asked, still studying what small details she could.

“Less than ten minutes ago. Lookout reports two masts, square-rigged. Fancies it a brig, sir.”

Lexa felt her heart beat jump slightly, her earlier sense of anticipation growing even greater at the news. Brigs were versatile ships, used commonly as trade vessels due to their speed and size, and also – less commonly but with increasing frequency – as fast and agile privateers. Could this be the trade vessel they were meant to be looking for? She tried not to get her hopes up prematurely, but nevertheless, the possibility was tantalizing.

“I want someone up top with an experienced eye, Gustus,” she said, the familiar nickname rolling off her tongue without a thought. “We must not fall victim to our own expectations. I want to be sure of this ship, its colors and disposition as quickly as possible.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” he agreed, then turned to shout loud instructions to one of the deck captains below. Soon a suitable candidate was produced – one of the older seaman, who had served for many years and was known to have keen eyes for ships – and sent scurrying up the mainmast to assist the lookout.

From the corner of her eye, Lexa examined her First Lieutenant quietly, momentarily lost in memory. It had been over a year since she took command of the _Polaris_ , but she still remembered when they had previously served together as Lieutenants on a different ship as though it were yesterday. It was her good fortune that her promotion and assignment to the _Polaris_ had come with the added bonus of a First Lieutenant she already knew and trusted. Though he was much older than herself, Gustus had come to the British Navy through unusual channels. He had served a good many years with the East India Company before seeking his commission. Even so, he had still been senior to her in years and experience. If the world was a fair one, he would have been given his own command long before her. Only blind luck and opportunity had catapulted her to the rank of Commander and given her a ship at such a young age, and she was well aware of the added scrutiny that being so young an officer brought her. When she first arrived on _Polaris_ , she had worried that he might hold a grudge of jealousy for her good fortune, but he had quickly proven himself a much better man than that. Now, a year into her tenure as this ship’s Captain, she could hardly imagine not having him there at her side.

Checking the position of the ship ahead of them in her glass once more, Lexa lowered it briskly and closed it with a metallic snap. Her lip curled into a small, dangerous smile, and she felt the many eyes of the ship watching her, waiting for her word.

“Call all hands, Mr. Augustus,” she ordered, her voice sharp and clear, “and prepare to clear the decks.”

Immediately he echoed the command in a loud, thundering shout. The ringing of a bell and the scurrying of many feet on the deck planks quickly followed as the _Polaris_ was brought to frenzied life with the promise of prey at last.

“Mr. Titus,” she inquired, turning to the Sailing Master who now stood in conference with one of his master’s mates near the helm. The bald man turned, his dour face set into a permanent frown. “I presume you’ve taken the day’s readings and fixed our current position?”

It had been not long after the noon hour when young Aden Woods had knocked on her door. As the Master, Titus was primarily responsible for the sailing and navigation of the ship, and was perhaps the oldest and most experienced seaman onboard. Though not the most well-liked among the officers – he was much too grave and serious to be loved – she valued his advice and knowledge, and he was also punctilious in carrying out his duties. He would have taken his readings of the noon sun and done the necessary calculations to determine their position by now.

The Sailing Master growled the affirmative and rattled off their approximate latitude and longitude from memory. Remembering her charts and knowing that they had kept a steady course since the previous reading, Lexa knew that they must be no more than a hundred miles or so off of the coast of the French island of Martinique.

“Very good,” she said her mind quickly working through the tactical problem before her. “We’ve the weather gage and there’s no place for her to run out here. Maintain course to intercept and bring us under full sail, Mr. Titus. I want this ship flying under every stitch of canvas she has.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Orders were shouted out, and under Titus’ watchful eye, the sailors scrambled to haul on the necessary sheets and prepare the deck for action. Though they didn’t yet know if this ship was one of the many privateers or smugglers currently causing so much damage to Britain’s trade in the West Indies, the thrill of the chase was still there. To the crew, anything was better than escorting ponderous trade caravans or idling along scant winds on empty seas. The chances were slim, but if the vessel in fact turned out to be the very ship that she had received word of several days ago, then the taking of this prize would be very gratifying indeed.

Where before the _Polaris_ had danced before the wind, now she soared, her speed as she cut through the cresting waves causing warm sprays of the Caribbean’s blue and green water to occasionally splash over and onto the deck. As the hour ticked away the brig grew on the horizon before them, it’s two square-rigged masts slowly taking on shape. The sailor sent up to assess its make and origin came slithering back down the main mast and reported to Lexa, confirming her hopes with a grin that was missing several teeth.

“I’ve seen her make ‘afore, she’s an English trading brig for certain. Runnin’ heavy in te’ water, might be. Hard te’ see a’ this distance, Cap’n, but I think she’s flyin’ Dutch colors, as it were. I’d swear a week’s wages on this’n, Cap’n, if she ain’t the one we been lookin’ for!”

She thanked the man for his work and sent him back to his duties. For the past month they had been patrolling along the Windward Islands, south of Antigua, with very little to show for it. Now, they might have a valuable target at hand which would not only put money in all of their pockets as a prize ship, but could also deprive the rebels in the American Colonies of the valuable war materials they so desperately needed.

As the chase progressed towards its inevitable conclusion, Lexa wondered about those onboard it. Though the two vessels were still quite far away from each other, she saw the other ship abruptly change to a more westerly course, apparently attempting to cut away from them before their guns could get in range. It was a fruitless effort. Her small frigate might be faster and more nimble at close range, but it likely couldn’t match the brig’s ability to sail more closely into the wind. Had the wind conditions been different when _Polaris_ started its pursuit, or had they since changed, then the other ship might have had a chance to escape. However, in this situation there was little that the brig’s captain could do. To get her advantage on speed and maneuverability by sailing closer to the wind, she would in effect need to sail directly towards Lexa’s ship. In fact, by turning as she did now, even if only slightly, she only hastened her own capture.

With the wind holding steady and the brig less than two miles away, Lexa reexamined the ship through her brass telescope and went below briefly in order to refer again to the description she had received with the latest dispatches. As the ship was flying Dutch colors, and their two countries were not currently at war, she must be absolutely certain of the ship’s identity before she acted.  When she returned on deck, the rest of the crew could sense the deadly focus and purpose in her walk.

“I believe we have found her, gentlemen… Clear the deck, Mr. Augustus! Gun crews to their posts!”

A roar went up from the nearby crew at her words and once more the ship was consumed by ordered chaos. Gun captains shoved their men into place and checked over their equipment and supplies. Sand was thrown down by scampering ship’s boys and water buckets were passed to each station as the deck was cleared and prepared for fighting action.

From behind, Lexa felt a pair of strong arms reach around her to fasten her sword and pistol around her waist, and she lifted her own arms without comment to allow it. Silent as death’s shadow, her Coxswain always managed to be nearby when danger loomed, watching over her like a protective mother wolf. They’d been together for almost five years now, as Indra Porter had always managed to find a way onto whatever ship Lexa served on. The story of how they met was an adventure for another time, but it had left the scarred and dangerous fighter with a single-minded desire to watch over the younger woman. When asked if she had any ship servant or assistant she wished to bring with her to her new command, Lexa hadn’t even needed to think about it.

“Thank you, Indra,” she said, giving her a very small smile.

“I don’t trust the look of that ship, Captain,” Indra said, her eyes looking suspiciously forward. “It gives me a bad feeling.”

“You’ve always a bad feeling,” she replied, as always, the normalcy and routine of their exchange giving her more comfort before battle than she would ever admit to anyone out loud.

“Better I stay close then, just in case,” the other woman muttered, her calloused fingers gripping the hilt of her sailor’s cutlass.

Though she doubted very much that swords would be required against this enemy, she said nothing, merely nodding her agreement and returning her attention to her bustling ship. Lexa called down to her Second Lieutenant, who was striding along the deck and barking periodic orders to his division of gun crews.

“I’ll have you in the forecastle now, Mr. Lincoln. Prepare to fire a warning shot across her stern on my command.”

The handsome, dark-skinned young man saluted briskly and sprang forward to take command of the two nine-pounder bow chasers and their respective gun crews. Hopefully a single shot would be enough to convince the brig’s captain to give up without a fight.

“How many guns do you make her to have?” she asked Gustus quietly, her keen eyes continuing to watch the activity of her ship for any shortcomings or mistakes. Any deficiencies she noted now would be subject to increased drill and practice later.

“With the illicit cargo they are said to be carrying… I would judge ten cannon at least,” he mused, confirming her own thoughts. “Not more than fourteen, certainly.”

Lexa nodded her agreement. Their ship had a compliment of twenty nine-pounder cannon, with nine on each broadside and two bow chasers in the forecastle, as well as variously mounted swivel guns for firing shot at close range. Gun for gun, they outmatched the other vessel and held the advantage in wind and position.

Also onboard her ship were a squad of twenty Royal Marines. Their commander, a marine Lieutenant named Roane, was an interesting fellow. Skilled, rakishly handsome, and almost scarily proficient at the art of war and mayhem, she wondered what past mischief or unfortunate family connection had relegated a man of his years and experience to the mere rank of Lieutenant, and on a small frigate no less. Regardless, she was happy to have him and his men onboard. Their scarlet coats and broad, white lapels stood out among the seaman like splashes of bright blood. Having them onboard was a rare luxury for a post ship such as the _Polaris_. As they were currently meant to be sniffing out smugglers and fending off privateers, the Marines were assigned to help assist with boarding parties and searches, as well as any close fighting that might occur.  All total that brought her crew to just under one hundred and eighty men and women, whereas she doubted the smaller brig had more than eighty hands.

Of course, there was always the chance that the ship she was chasing would turn on them and show herself to be a true privateer, with more guns than expected and a willingness to use them.

As the ship steadily pulled into range, Lexa quieted her inner worries and speculations, focusing on the tasks at hand. The brig would reveal its true colors soon enough, she knew, for better or worse.

Ordering her helmsman to momentarily heel the _Polaris_ slightly into the wind, Lexa called forward to Lincoln and his two gun crews as soon as she felt the ship respond.

“Mr. Lincoln, fire that warning shot as you bear!”

The prow of the ship swung slightly to the side, and the call of “Fire!” from Lincoln was immediately followed by the snarl of the cannon, the single ball passing harmlessly behind the brig and splashing into the waters beyond. The helmsmen took up the proper course again and the _Polaris_ leapt forward, tearing after the other ship, the steering costing her only a moment’s delay. She watched the other ship for its response, the two vessels now less than a mile from one another.

“She’s still running,” her Sailing Master remarked, his tone thoughtful.

“Yes, that pretty well settles it then, doesn’t it,” she remarked, a pleased and somewhat predatory smile filling her face for a few seconds before she mastered the expression. No legitimate trading vessel from a neutral or friendly nation would keep sailing after receiving a warning shot from a man of war such as the _Polaris_. They might complain and threaten over the delay, but no sane captain would risk its ship and cargo over such a display.

They continued to close with the ship, Lexa ordering a second and final warning shot, hoping to shock the other captain into being reasonable. This also resulted in no change, and she snarled in frustration. No doubt the other ship hoped she could be goaded into coming abeam her prematurely for a full salvo, which would give _them_ an opportunity to fire back as well. Lexa wouldn’t let her impatience get the better of her, however. With her two forward guns, she could just as easily beat the brig into submission, though it might take a little longer.

Leaving the quarterdeck, she went forward to stand with Lincoln at the guns.

“Load chain-shot and fire on her rigging.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Lexa waited as the shot was loaded, a type which consisted of two balls connected by a chain. If the other ship wouldn’t heave to on its own, then she would slowly cripple it until it had no other choice.

“Fire as you bear, Mr. Lincoln.”

She watched as he sighted the gun and waited for his moment, timing the rise and fall of the ships bow with the rolling of the waves. Sea spray washed over them, dampening their clothes and putting the taste of salt on her lips, but she hardly noticed, her body swaying in unconscious harmony to the constant movement of the deck.

“Fire!” came the shout and again the cannon roared to life. Lexa paid no attention as the barrel was quickly swabbed and the work of loading it began again. She watched as the shot tore into the rigging of the other ship, causing torn sails and sheets to come falling down in a dangerous rain on the deck below, tangling with other rigging as it fell. Still the Dutch colors flew undeterred, the ship slowing but not showing any intention of surrender.

_Damn this idiot captain!_ She thought, her jaw clenching in aggravation. _Doesn’t the fool realize he is beaten?_

“Again,” she ordered, and soon another shot followed the previous. Still the stubborn ship persisted. The two ships were now less than two cables distant, and Lexa suddenly had a sense for what the other captain intended, though he must be dangerously obstinate to think it worthwhile.

She ordered Lincoln to fire a final shot at the rigging, then load round shot once more and prepare to hull the other ship. Not remaining to see her orders carried out, she hurried back to the quarterdeck, Indra close on her heels.

“The fool means to turn into us and go gun for gun,” she said once she arrived, shaking her head. “Keep us to windward and prepare to engage with the larboard guns. He’ll try to cut us into the wind.”

Her predictions were proven correct. Several minutes later, as the ship ahead of them drew to within a cable length, it suddenly turned and began to come about. With undamaged sails, Lexa doubted they would have succeeded in getting the advantage of them. As it was, the brig drunkenly began its turn and they saw the ports along her side slide open, six cannon barrels rolling into view.

Having already prepared her crew for this very event, Lexa didn’t even need to shout orders. Already the _Polaris_ was turning to starboard in a swift, neat turn and converging on the stricken brig, her larboard gun ports opening and the nine cannons hauled swiftly into place, ready to fire. She felt her body tense and the world around her slow down as the enemy ship crawled to what seemed to be impossibly close range. The stern of the ship drew abeam of the _Polaris_ , and Lexa could now see the people on board her, the men and women frantically hacking at the tangled sheets and sails, struggling to clear them, and the faces pale with fear, crouching behind their guns.

“Hold!” she shouted, drawing her sword and willing her well-practiced crews to keep to their discipline and training. On the forecastle and behind her on the quarterdeck, Lieutenant Roane’s marine sharpshooters began to choose their targets, muzzles braced against the rails.

From the brig, a thunderous boom sounded as one of the cannon was fired early by a nervous sailor, and soon it was followed sporadically by the rest, their lesser experience showing in this moment, facing down the guns of the world’s greatest navy. Lexa ignored the screams and shouts of alarm around her, and the tremble of the deck under her feet as the shots struck her ship, waiting for the perfect moment, when the coordinated barrage would do the most destruction.

“FIRE!”

The word ripped from her throat in a scream that somehow managed to carry over all the other sounds, her bared sword slashing downward in a flash of bright silver. Nearly as one, the nine cannons belched smoke and flame, the round shot smashing through the hull of the other ship and sending men, body parts and splinters flying. In the smoke and confusion, she had little time to assess the damage of that initial barrage.

“Fire as you bear!” she shouted, though the order was hardly necessary.

The _Polaris_ continued to close with the smaller ship with all the great and terrifying momentum of war. The crew’s training had kicked in, and already barrels were being mechanically swabbed and new powder and shot loaded. The guns would be fired as quickly as the individual crews could load them, but suddenly she realized that the continued effort would not be necessary.

The enemy brig abruptly ceased its disorganized firing. Finally realizing the futility of such pointless death and destruction, the Colonial smuggling ship the _Arc de Triomphe_  hastily hauled down its false colors, the Dutch ensign descending down into the swirling smoke along its shattered deck.

Calling for her crew to cease fire, Lexa surveyed the damage to her own ship, relieved by what she saw. The _Polaris_ had most certainly fared better in this brief skirmish. All of her masts were intact and she’d taken no shots below the waterline. Sailors lay wounded and dead, and the Carpenter and his mates would no doubt be busy with repairs for several days, but she had come through the short encounter relatively unscathed, otherwise.

“Mr. Woods, signal them to heave to and prepare to be boarded,” she said, relieved to find that the boy was uninjured and still at his post, though his face was pale and he looked terrified. “You’ve come through your first battle very well, Aden! Now, remember your duty,” she encouraged sternly, and the young Midshipmen sprang into action without her having to repeat the order.

As the smoke cleared and the brig slowly turned into the wind and came to a stop, Lexa moved her ship a safe distance off of her and ordered the launching of the longboat and the gig. The boarding party was organized, and she gave Lieutenant Lincoln the command of the longboat, while she herself would take the gig over to the surrendered ship. Her First Lieutenant would remain on the _Polaris_ and in command until her return. If the brig proved salvageable, Lincoln would have the honor of commanding it and sailing the captured prize north to Antigua and the safety of English Harbor.

The gig pulled away from her ship and maneuvered into the longboat’s wake, Indra glaring the four oarsmen into terrified silence as she rhythmically called the pulling of the oars. Lexa leaned forward, peering intently at the stubborn ship which had put up such a valiant, but ultimately useless fight, her intelligent green eyes looking it over with proprietary interest. She wondered what interesting things would be revealed once they boarded the _Ark_ , and what secrets the ship had to tell.

Indra looked back at Commander Alexandra Blood and shook her head, brows furrowed.

“I still don’t like the look of her, Captain,” she muttered between strokes, but the words went unnoticed.

 

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Onboard the _Arc de Triomphe_ , Clarke Griffin opened her sea chest and quickly withdrew the small bundle of secret dispatches which she had kept there since boarding the ship in France. Tearing open the wax seals and scattering the papers on the small cot beside her, she took a long, heavy swig from the bottle of spirits she held before upending the remainder of it onto the papers. She scowled, a curse escaping her under her breath.

Lighting a match, she dropped it on the pile.

“I should have stayed in Boston,” she said to herself as she stood there, watching the papers burn.


End file.
